


Peter Is a Damsel In Distress

by Scotty1609



Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Matt, Angst, BAMF Claire Temple, BAMF Matt Murdock, Blood and Gore, Caring Matt, Chinese Food, Claire Ships It, Claire Temple Deserves Better, Fluff, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Pain, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter is a Little Shit, Rutting, Torture, Wilson Fisk is a Dick, very very light smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotty1609/pseuds/Scotty1609
Summary: Spider-man is kidnapped in order to get to Daredevil. Daredevil rescues him. Claire is done with Matt's bullshit. Cue the feels.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I'm on a hardcore Peter Parker/Matt Murdock shipping cruise right now, so here you go! Lots of whump and angst with light smut and love confessions. Just little things that fanfics are made of.
> 
> WARNINGS: torture, blood and gore, angry Matt, language, and guy-on-guy
> 
> Enjoy!!

The first thing he felt when he woke up was that his brain was banging itself against the inside of his skull.

The second thing was that he was pinned down to a medical table.

“You're awake.”

Pulling against his bonds, Spider-man blinked away black spots and responded to the voice, “Tie me up, why don't you? Not even gonna take me to dinner first?”

A deep chuckle echoed throughout the room, sending shivers down the young man's spine. The black spots were finally disappearing, and he realized he was in some sort of abandoned building. It looked like an old factory, the roof tall and arched and wooden crates lining the walls. There were henchmen in black suits all around, each of them wearing a pair of sunglasses despite the fact that it was pitch black outside. A moonless night, the city lights blared and drowned out the stars. The last thing Spider-man could remember was entering Hell's Kitchen, looking for Daredevil as he needed help with a drug-ring in the outskirts of Queens. Then, his spider-senses had started screaming at him, and he was surrounded. A dart hit his skin, and he could feel his strength falling away as whatever drug filled his system...

“You hide your fear with humor, little one.”

“Hey! I resent that. I'm 5-foot-10! That's average height.”

The man- who was still out of Spider-man's visual range- laughed once more. “Puny spider...” he crooned, the deep voice and soft whisper making Spider-man shiver. “So small, so afraid. You believe yourself to be strong, and yet behind that facade hides a fearful child...”

“What, are you my therapist now? Sorry, but I am _not_ paying for your services. I thought therapists were supposed to make people feel _better_!”

“SILENCE!”

A meaty fist slammed down on the table right next to Spider-man's head, indenting the metal and sending vibrations that jarred the man's head. “Shit!” he hissed. “Anger-management issues, huh, buddy? Who needs the therapist now?”

“I have seen you with him.”

“So we're changing conversations now. Alright.”

The figure was standing next to Spider-man's head, and if he craned his neck enough, he could barely make out a white suit.

“I have seen you fighting with him,” the deep voice continued, the clacking of dress shoes on the concrete floor as the man slowly waltzed around the table. “You are his friend. You know him. You know _who_ he is.”

“Who is it we're talking about?”

“ _Him_ ,” the man growled, coming to stop before Spider-man. “The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.”

And oh, _shit_.

“Mr. Fisk! It's nice to formally meet you. Y'know, I've beat up- ah ha, I mean- _met_ some of your lackeys before. Not very friendly guys, actually.”

Fisk's thick face got so close to Spider-man's that Peter could feel the man's breath through his mask. “Pee-yew! Ever heard of a toothbrush, Mr. Fisk?”

The fist in his gut knocked the wind out of Spider-man, making him simultaneously cough and gasp for air. Fisk's face morphed into a smile's sadistic cousin, his head tilting to the side as he spoke once more. “You will tell me where the Devil is tonight. I have conversing to do with him.”

“What,” Spider-man coughed out, “your lackeys not smart enough to find him yourselves?”

Another fist to the gut came, and Spider-man felt something within him crack. He gasped sharply, feeling his ribs strain under Fisk's fist.

“You flaunt yourself around, bright colors and silly quips, but the Devil hides in the shadows. He is like smoke, intangible to even my men.” Fisk stood, pulling something silver from his pocket. “Something you must know about me, Spider-man, is that I am not above murder.”

“Oh really? I had _no_ idea.”

Fisk's face hardened for a mere moment before he continued. “That being said, I am also not above torture.”

Spidey-senses going haywire, Spider-man strained against his bonds once more. “Well, _that being said_ , Mr. Fisk, I myself am not a masochist, so I'd prefer if you didn't-”

A fist, donning brass knuckles, came crashing down into his face, and Spider-man heard a pop, feeling horrible pain ripple through his jaw as it came unhinged. Warm blood dripped down his cheek from the deep cut the brass knuckles had wrought. “F-Fuck!” Crying out in pain caused _more_ pain, Peter found, and he cringed. That was what Fisk wanted. Now, when he screamed from the torture, it would cause him to further harm himself.

“Where is Daredevil?”

Even through his dislocated jaw, Spider-man managed to slur, “Who?”

Fisk grinned. “This shall be fun.”

A set of punches was unleashed over Spider-man's form- to his chest, cracking ribs, to his face, cutting up skin, to his gut, causing pain to ripple through his organs. Peter bit his tongue to keep from crying out, his jaw still throbbing painfully. Fisk didn't seem to like this, though, and his hand came around to grip Spider-man's chin tightly. This _did_ cause Peter to cry out, thick fingers digging dirty nails into his bruised flesh, ripping at dislocated bone.

“Where is Daredevil?”

Spider-man wished he could spit at Fisk's ugly mug. “Dunno. Try the little hero's room.”

More punches rained down on his torso and gut, and _God_ , it would be a miracle if none of his organs were busted or punctured. Spider-man's uniform had been torn by the brass knuckles, his flesh turned black and blue against the cold metal, cuts littering his form in like little red paint strokes.

Soon enough, Fisk seemed to grow tired. The man's chest was heaving, sweat popping out on his brow from the physical effort of pounding into Spider-man's smaller form. Spider-man's own chest was heaving with the effort it took to breathe beneath broken ribs. With each shuddering breath he took, Spider-man groaned as the lightning tendrils of pain shot through his body. He had felt pain like this before, though not to such an extent. It felt like shards of glass were stabbing his lungs and organs, ripping out pieces of flesh from his body.

Blinking back stars, Spider-man craned his neck to find Fisk when he realized the man had disappeared from his vision once more.

A slow tapping noise, deeper than that of Fisk's shoes, echoed through the empty factory. “Where. Is. Daredevil?” Fisk's voice intoned as he rapped a wooden bat on the edges of the table where Spider-man lay.

“Dunno...” His throat was wet with blood, Peter realized, a trickle of the stuff falling from the corner of his lip as he spoke. He coughed, more blood coming up, and shook his head at Fisk, fighting for purchase of his thoughts. When he saw the bat, any lame quips that came to his mind left in an instant. “D-Dunno. Don't keep tabs... on 'im.”

“But you know where he nests?”

Spider-man didn't dignify that with an answer.

“Very well,” Fisk sighed, pretending to be disappointed as he lifted the bat. Spider-man's heart leaped into his throat, and he coughed out, “W-Wait!”

Fisk brought the bat down on Spider-man's shin, the force of it sending a loud _CRACK_ through the warehouse as both Peter's bone and the bat snapped in two.

“ _GAH_!” Throwing his head back, Peter _screamed_ at the feeling of splinters digging into flesh, bone puncturing skin and meeting cold air. His scream wretched out a bloody cough and pained whine as his jaw protested at the abuse.

Fisk furrowed his brow at Spider-man. “Soon enough and you will no longer be able to speak. So tell me now, before I resort to less friendly means-”

“ _Less f-friendly_?”

“-Where is the Devil?”

Blinking back unconsciousness, Spider-man hardly managed to shake his head. “N-No.”

“I grow weary, Spider-man... If you cannot provide me answers, I have no further use of you.”

Peter's eyes were swimming, his thoughts no better. He could hardly breathe, hardly _think_ , what with the webs of agony that were suffocating him. Fisk's words barely connected with him, but when they did, his eyes widened.

“N-No-”

Fisk brought the broken bottom half of the bat down once more, on Spider-man's stomach, on his chest, on his collarbone, on his arms and legs- all over Peter's body, Fisk pounded and beat until nothing was left of Spider-man but torn fabric and bloody blue flesh. With each hit, Fisk's fury rose and rose and rose.

“P-Pl... ease...” Spider-man coughed, eyes rolling back into his head. “Ple...”

“Please _what_? End your suffering?!” Fisk roared, spittle flying from his lips. “I WILL _END_ YOU, SPIDER-MAN!” Fisk raised the bloody half of the bat high over his head, bending backwards and preparing for the final blow. Beneath his mask, Peter's eyes fluttered shut.

_I'm sorry, Aunt May... I'm sorry, Matt..._

A loud _CRACK_ echoed through the factory once more, and _Fisk_ howled in pain. Flipping off of the fallen man's back, Daredevil stood proudly next to where Spider-man lay. His chest heaving with his fury, Daredevil's grip on his batons was deadly, his glare stifling.

“Wilson Fisk,” he growled, his gravely voice once frightening to Peter now a welcome angel, “I heard you were looking for me.”

Fisk's goons rushed in, and Daredevil quickly dispatched them. The sounds of groaning and bones snapping beneath the vigilante's batons reached Peter's ears, and he managed to smile through the blood and pain. It took mere moments, Daredevil's fighting spurned on by his righteous rage. “FISK!” he roared into the factory, feeling the vibrations come back to him and feeling the rushing air of Fisk's retreat.

Throwing his baton, Daredevil wrapped the cord around Fisk's ankles and _yanked_ , making the giant man fall. “Wilson Fisk, you will pay for your sins,” Daredevil growled, following the cord to where his enemy lay.

“I'm glad to have found you, Devil of Hell's Kitchen. I have a gift for you, as you can see,” Fisk laughed out. “I did not have time to wrap it, though-”

And then Daredevil was laying into him, fists flying as he beat in Fisk's nose, cheeks, temple- Blood and spit were flying, Daredevil's angry grunts mixing with Fisk's pained ones.

Head lolling to the side, Spider-man blinked against the agony and whimpered, “D-Dev... Devil... _Devil_...”

Daredevil ceased, fist geared back to lay into Fisk again, his other hand wrapped around the man's neck. Fisk was unconscious, blood pooling around his head from a broken nose and jaw.

“Dev...” Spider-man gasped, voice failing him.

“ _Shit_ ,” Daredevil hissed as he ran to the table, hands roaming over Spider-man's body as he searched for injuries. Peter cried out, sobbing at the pain of Matt's hands on him. “Hold on, Peter,” Matt whispered to the younger man as he lifted his batons, whacking at the bonds on Spider-man's wrists and ankles. They cracked, and Daredevil used brute strength to rip them off their hinges. “I'm going to get your help, Spider-man,” Daredevil spoke louder. “Just don't pass out on me. You have a head injury- Spider-man. Spider-man! _Peter_!”

But Peter was overcome by shadows.

 

…

 

He had stumbled across Spider-man and Fisk by pure miracle, praising the saints as he did. He hadn't even known Spider-man was missing, much less captured. As he prowled around the roof of the factory, Daredevil honed his senses in to listen to the sounds of Fisk beating in the younger man's ribs.

There was no time to plan, he realized quickly as Fisk roared, “I WILL _END_ YOU, SPIDER-MAN!”

Plowing through the glass ceiling, Daredevil flipped onto Fisk's shoulders, knocking the man down and sending the air out of him. He was swarmed by lackeys instantly, and only by the fury in his veins was he able to down them all.

“FISK!” Matt shouted part in anger and part in attempt to echo-locate Spider-man's torturer. When he realized Fisk was trying to flee, Daredevil shot out to catch him.

Even as he approached the fallen Fisk, Daredevil could hear the grate of broken bones as Peter's frail lungs attempted to breath. Blood was sluggishly flowing out of his body, slowed by whatever drug they had pegged him with. The bitten-off hisses of pain and whimpers were what really got to him, though. Peter was fucking _whimpering_ like a beaten dog.

So he took helped Fisk take penance for his actions. He laid into the man, feeling his knuckles almost instantly bloody at a lucky shot to the man's nose. With how recklessly he was throwing punches- his head swimming with too much anger to think clearly- it was surprising that any of his punches were landing on their target.

And then-

“ _D-Dev...il..._ ”

_Peter_.

“Shit!”

Matt could taste the copper in the air as he flew to Spider-man's side, hands ghosting over the smaller man's body in search of injuries. Shattered leg, four broken ribs- six fractured- countless bruises and cuts, a dislocated jaw and broken collarbone-

Spider-man cried out, sobbing in pain, and Daredevil was quick to speak to him.

“Hold on, Peter,” he whispered, stroking the younger's hair before freeing him from his bonds. “Hold on, I'm going to get you out of here.”

And then Peter passed out.

“ _Shit_!”

He didn't have his cellphone, didn't have any way to call Foggy or Claire for help, and Peter was too injured to move. _Gonna have to risk it... He'll die if I don't..._ So slowly, so cautiously, Daredevil slid an arm beneath Spider-man's knees and another beneath his back, lifting him up and cradling Peter to his chest. “Hang on, Pete,” Matt whispered as he flew out of the factory. His apartment was closer than Claire's, but he didn't have the supplies necessary to care for the extent of Peter's injuries. _Claire's it is. Won't she be thrilled_.

The entire way to Claire's, Daredevil kept an ear out for Spider-man's heart. It was weak and sluggish, trying its best to pump blood to broken limbs. “Hang in there. _Please_.”

It took ten fucking minutes to get to Claire's, and upon entering the window, Matt cried out loudly for help. The rush of footsteps told him Claire was home, and the woman's gasp was loud enough to drown out the sound of Peter's heart. “ _Help him_ ,” Matt pleaded, and Claire set about it with no protest.

“Lay him on the floor.”

Daredevil did so, ripping his mask and gloves off after. “What can I do?”

“Take off his costume. Mask, too. _No arguing_.”

Matt did so, hoping Peter would forgive him for revealing his identity later.

“Oh my G... Matt, he needs a hospital-”

“No hospitals,” Matt spat.

“Matthew, he-”

“ _No hospitals_.”

Claire clenched her jaw, taking in a deep breath. “If he dies, it's on you.”

_Please, Pete,_ Matt thought to himself, running a hand through his red locks, _Please, please, **please** , Pete..._ Emotions that he had tried for so long to push down were running up, flooding over the dam he had erected to keep people out of his heart. Peter had put a chink in his armor, and now, it was all falling to pieces.

“MATT! Are you listening?”

“W-What?”

“I need you to tell me if any of his organs are damaged. I don't feel any swelling, but that doesn't mean there couldn't still be internal bleeding. And if there is, _we are taking him to a hospital._ ”

Closing his eyes, Matt took a deep breath to calm himself. And then, he listened.

“No. No, there isn't any internal bleeding.”

“Are you sure?”

Matt's face filled with the same rage from earlier, and he leveled his gaze in Claire's direction. “I wouldn't risk Peter's life.”

“You _are_ risking his life, Matt,” Claire whispered in protest to the vigilante's ridiculous 'no hospitals' rule. “Alright. I need you to set his leg while I deal with his head.” She flashed a light in Peter's eyes as Matt moved towards the young man's lower body, his hands settling over Peter's leg. Slowly, trying to minimize any pain that may rip Peter from blissful unconsciousness, Matt pulled against the pieces of bone until they _click_ ed back into place. He then pressed a rag to the ripped skin, trying to hold in precious blood.

“Grade three concussion, but minimum swelling. Any blood?”

“No blood in the brain from what I can tell,” Matt confirmed.

“Good. That's good,” Claire spoke to herself. “His skull is fractured. I'm going to need to X-ray it to-”

“Do you have one here?”

Claire glared. “No, obviously.”

“Do what you can.”

And God if the nurse didn't _growl_ at that, moving on from Peter's head to his ribs. She tapped on Peter's chest, felt for fluid in his lungs, and taped him up tightly. Then she moved Matt aside so she could go about pulling splinters from the bloody shreds of Peter's leg. “Find me something to splint his leg with.”

“ _Really_? You want to send _me_ on that mission?”

“Dammit, you're right. Here, put pressure on that cut,” she placed Matt's hands over a particularly nasty contusion on Peter's lower torso before running into the kitchen. She emerged with a wooden spoon and spatula. “Better than nothing.”

Claire splinted up Peter's leg before putting medical glue over his many cuts, stitching up the worst of them. Overall, the full treatment took nearly forty-five minutes, and Peter stayed unconscious throughout it all.

“Will he be alright?”

Claire threw her hands in the air. “I don't know, Matt! I-”

But then she saw his face. Matt's eyes, normally steely or cocky, were fearful. His jaw was clenched, his brows furrowed in concern as one hand caressed Peter's hair gently.

“You care about him.”

“Of course I do! I-”

“No, Matt,” Claire shook her head, “I mean you _care_ about him.”

Matt didn't confirm or deny the accusation, instead sitting down next to Peter, pulling the young man's head into his lap. “...He's a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Claire spoke knowingly. She stood, sighing and brushing off her pants. “Well, I'm going to change. Yet another set of pajamas has been ruined by blood, thanks to you.”

Matt managed a smirk. “Sorry.” He didn't sound sorry at all.

“You can stay here until he wakes up, but I have work in a few hours, if you'll excuse me. Come get me when he wakes up or if anything changes.”

Nodding, Matt bid the woman goodnight before settling down for a long night.

 

…

 

When Peter came to, it was with a gasp and a flinch. He felt someone's hand on his face, and he panicked, kicking and crying out when a shooting pain ran up his leg. His hands fought for purchase on- _carpet?_

“Peter! Peter, calm down, _please_ -”

“M-Matt!” Peter cried out, shuddering in agony as he sobbed. “Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt-”

“I'm here, Peter, I'm here.”

A voice was shushing him, a familiar voice that he couldn't place.

“ _Matt_...”

He passed out again.

 

…

 

When he regained consciousness for the second time, Peter was much calmer. His eyes flickered open, breath hitching when he didn't recognize the living room he was in. It took him a moment to realize his head was laying in someone's lap, and he blinked against the sunlight that flickered in through the blinds.

“Good morning.”

The voice was low and soothing, just like the hand that was threaded through his hair, gently rubbing his scalp. Another hand was tracing fingers on his wrist, tapping gently with the tempo of his heartbeat.

“M-Matt?”

Peter winced at how dry his voice sounded.

Matt made a noise in the back of his throat, quickly yet gently placing a pillow under Peter's head as he crossed into a kitchenette area. When he came back, he was holding a glass of water with a straw. Peter's ribs groaned in protest as Matt helped him sit, propping the younger man against the couch. “Sip slowly,” Matt ordered as he held the cup to Peter's face.

Peter did so, the lukewarm water a welcome relief to his raw throat. Before he was finished, Matt pulled the cup away and sat it down. Peter whined, and Matt cocked an eyebrow at him.

After getting a look around the apartment, Peter cleared his throat and asked, “Where are we?”

“At a friend's. She patched you up last night.”

“Last night... Oh, shit- Fisk-”

“-is in the hands of the NYPD,” Matt told him, once more caressing his hair- and when had Matt ever been this affectionate?- “I called in an anonymous tip after I got you here and settled.”

“How long... have I been out?”

“Just under eight hours.”

“EIGHT-” Peter sat up quickly, crying out and clutching at his torso when his ribs and head protested.

“Sit!” Matt ordered him. “You're in no position to be darting off anywhere.”

“But- work-”

“I called in for you. Strep throat. You've got two weeks off, including vacation time.”

“Uugh, vacation too?”

Matt grinned devilishly. “Should've thought about that before you went and got your ass handed to you.”

Peter gasped, scandalized. “Oh my, Mr. Murdock! Such language.”

“I _will_ throw you out the window.”

“But you wouldn't be able to enjoy my company if I were dead!”

Matt's face fell, and Peter felt something in his stomach churn.

“We need to talk about that.”

“About what?”

“ _Peter_... you almost _died_ last night. It's a fucking miracle that none of your organs were punctured or crushed- you had so many broken bones that your entire body sounded like a bag of broken glass. And don't get me started on your heart...”

Wincing, Peter extended a consoling hand to Matt's shoulder. He half expected Matt to throw him off, but when the older man didn't, Peter curled his fingers around Matt's neck. “I'm okay now, Matt. You saved me, the damsel in distress I am.”

This pulled a curl of the lip from the man, who shook his head. “You're an idiot.”

“ _Your_ idiot.”

And oh God _why did he say that_ it sounded like he-

Matt chuckled darkly and nuzzled the side of Peter's cheek with his nose, drawing a squeak from the younger man. “M-Matt! What are you-”

“You smell like antiseptic and blood.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Peter would have tried to come up with a wittier response, but with Matt's hot breath on his ear, it was getting hard to focus. “M-Matt..?”

“Peter...”

Peter had never heard Matt's voice like that before. It was an odd mix of concern, care, anger, and... was that _arousal_?

“...you make me crazy, Peter,” Matt growled. “You run off into danger-”

“-and have a hot little Devil come rescue me?”

“ _Peter..._ ”

Something in Matt's voice made Peter turn his head to look at him, and then Matt's mouth was on his, open and hot and wet. Matt's tongue snaked into his mouth immediately, caressing the younger man's tongue and teeth, spit gathering in the corner of Peter's open lips as he moaned into the bruising kiss. Matt's hand ran through Peter's hair and gripped tightly, making Peter gasp and groan. Teeth nipping, lips sucking, tongue petting. It felt as though his body was melting into a puddle that was him and the hot, wet suction that was Matt's mouth on his.

“Yes, please, have sex on my living room floor.”

Peter yelped at the unknown voice, pushing Matt back and whipping his head around- _instant headache_ \- to see a dark-haired woman in scrubs. She was crossing her arms and scowling at Matt, but when her vision settled on Peter, she smiled. “I'm Claire. And you're Peter.”

He nodded blankly in return. “Oh! Ah- um- thank you, for taking care of me, I mean. Last night.”

Claire shrugged. “Try not to make it a habit, alright?” She picked up her jacket and threw it on, smirking at the young man. “And make sure you two make it back to your place before you...” She nodded at them, raising her eyebrows repeatedly.

Peter turned bright red, peeping out a confirmation, and watched as Claire shut the door and locked it behind her. Turning back to Matt, Peter opened his mouth to speak, but froze upon seeing the man's half-lidded eyes.

“Peter...” he spoke huskily, their hands meeting. “I... Come back to my place. To heal up, I mean.”

“H-Heal up. Right,” Peter squeaked, nodding. Matt handed Peter the rags that was the Spider-man costume.

“Are you okay to swing back?” His question was answered when Peter stumbled and fell back onto the couch upon standing. “I'll carry you.”

 

…

 

Peter was immensely embarrassed to have Daredevil piggy-back him in broad daylight, but fortunately, there weren't enough people out to notice the two. They arrived at Matt's rooftop within minutes, and Matt had them inside in even shorter time.

Peter had been to Matt's apartment before, but now- after that _kiss_ \- he felt like a bumbling teenager again, not sure what to do with his limbs but hug them tightly to his body as he sat on the plush red couch. His body still ached, but his jaw was feeling much better. His leg was the worst of it, a gentle throb settling in his toes and stretching to his knee. After making sure Peter was settled, Matt disappeared to the bedroom, leaving Peter to his thoughts.

_He kissed me. He **kissed** me. Matt Murdock, lady-killing lawyer, kissed **me**. Holy shit. Holy **shit**. I didn't even know he was queer! I've never even **been** with a guy before, but- but with Matt... Would we- we could be- no. Don't get your hopes up, Parker. It was adrenaline. He was relieved to see you were still alive, and-_

A pair of pajama pants landed on his face, and Peter startled out of his reverie.

“There. If you want to bathe, there's towels under the sink. Would you rather have Chinese or Italian?”

“Um... Chinese?”

Matt nodded and went back into the bedroom to find his cellphone and order their food. Cautiously, Peter shed his costume and pulled on the pajama pants, tying them tightly in order to keep them from falling down. He stumbled into Matt's bedroom to see the man lying on his bed, also in a pair of pajama pants. He was shirtless, his defined abs and the long dip of his v-line making Peter's face turn dark red. Matt's skin was pale and scarred, his collarbone sharp and pecs strong. His biceps made Peter's mouth water, and the younger man had to shake his head when he saw Matt's much larger hands, attempting to banish the dirty thoughts that filled his mind.

“Like what you see?”

Why was Matt being so suggestive? He hadn't meant the kiss, it was just- just relief. It was just-

Matt gripped Peter's wrist and pulled the younger man down onto the bed, burrowing his face in Peter's shoulder. Peter yelped at the grip and the pain that rushed through his body, but didn't fight Matt's grip. Instead, he relaxed into Matt's hold as the pain faded away, replaced by a warmth in his chest. His eyes fluttering closed as warm, chapped lips rubbed against his bare skin.

“Why are you doing this, Matt?”

“Doing what?” A kiss landed on his neck.

“You know what.”

Teeth scraped his shoulder, and Peter honest-to-God whimpered. “Matt!”

The man stopped, peering at Peter with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, but- Matt- you just- and I-” Peter threw his hands into the air, wincing as it jarred his ribs. “Do you like me or don't you?”

Matt grinned, pretty white teeth on display, and murmured, “You tell me.”

And then Matt was kissing him again, all teeth and tongue and _heat_ , and Peter's fingers gripped for purchase on those glorious hips. But it wasn't enough. Matt's tongue was working _miracles_ , and Peter felt his brain melting out of his ears as he clawed at the older man's scarred back, writhing beneath him. One of Matt's hands held Peter's cheek, the other going to the smaller man's hip and holding gently to the bruised flesh there. A roll of his hips, and Matt had Peter crying out, this time in pleasure rather than pain. Peter rutted against Matt sharply, drawing gasps from his lover.

The two rutted against each other in their pajama pants like horny teenagers, the rough feeling of fabric against their lengths making it all the more pleasurable. Matt was _painfully_ hard against Peter's thigh, and the younger man thrust his hips up in one vicious movement, ignoring the pain that it brought his body.

“S-Shit, _Peter_ -”

“M-Matt!”

Matt reached down the front of Peter's pants, his calloused fingertips barely brushing across Peter's-

_Ding dong_.

Matt swore, withdrawing his hand and resting his forehead against Peter's wrapped-up collarbone. “That'll be the food.”

Peter's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and Matt couldn't help but laugh. He pecked Peter's lips, pulling away reluctantly to get the take-out.

They were both coming down from a high- _slowly_ coming down- as they sat at the kitchen table to eat. The whole while, Peter couldn't keep his hands off Matt. A caress of the hand to his arm, wrapping his good ankle around Matt's- the younger man was _constantly_ touching him, and Matt loved it. Once they finished eating, Peter practically tackled Matt onto the couch. He was still hard, and upon rolling his hips into Matt's, he found the other man was, too.

“Keep me waiting any more, Murdock, and I'll have to find someone else to help me out.”

Matt grinned against Peter's lips. “Oh really? And who would that be?”

“Oh you know, hot guy who has a fetish for dark leather, wears his underwear on the outside, goes by DD? You know him?”

Matt's hand smacked Peter's ass lightly, making him yelp. “Can't say I do.”

“Hm. Well then, I guess I'll settle for you.”

“I'm glad you've come to a decision.”

They quickly dissolved back into rutting teenagers, all curious hands and wet tongues. Peter melted into Matt and Matt fell into Peter, the two not knowing where they stopped and the other started. And then Matt's hand was on him, pumping and stroking and making Peter fall apart beneath his expertise. Peter tried to reciprocate, doing what he knew he liked and listening happily to the debauched noises that Matt was making. Soon enough, Peter finished onto Matt's stomach, Matt not far behind him. The two laid there, wrapped up in each others arms, breathing heavily on each others necks and whispering soft nothings to each other.

“Sooo... I'm guessing this means you like me.”

“We still need to talk about your recklessness last night.”

“Ha! Matt 'Danger' Murdock, trying to talk to _me_ about recklessness.”

Matt nipped at Peter's nose with a smirk. “Shut up.”

“Can't come up with anything more clever?”

“I'm surprised you're this chatty after being tortured and thoroughly sexed-up.”

“Did you just say _sex-ed up_? Like, in serious conversation? _Seriously_?”

After a few moments' silence, Matt said, “Yes, by the way.”

Peter cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“To answer your earlier question. Yes, I like you.”

Peter barked out a laugh, laying his head on Matt's chest and sighing happily. “Good. Cuz I like you, too.”

“Just try not to get kidnapped again, alright?”

“No promises. I kinda like being a damsel in distress.”

“ _Peter_.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please rec to me any good Matt/Peter fics, as I believe I have read all of the ones on AO3.
> 
> ALSO! If you are reading my series "Hey Kid! (Or How the Avengers Unwittingly Adopted Spider-man)", then I would adore it if you recommended prompts on how Peter should meet the rest of the Avengers!
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!!


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